Love In a Small Town (10 page)

Tentatively, he began, "Smith was way ahead of his time in many ways. What did you think?"

He knew the look. Logan was eager, but cautious, as wary as a prowling cat expecting trouble, ready to bolt at the first sign of it.

Considering carefully, the boy answered, "It's mostly common sense, but I guess not so common in 1776, when he wrote the book."

He stopped, looking distressed and taken with shyness.

David noticed Sarah's interest in Logan's answers. She smiled proudly.

"Go on, Logan," he said kindly. "In a few short years kids like you will be running the country. I'd like to hear what you think."

Encouraged, and after a glance at Sarah, he said, "I agree with Adam Smith when he says that a nation's economy should be left free of government interference, to find its own way to be productive. It's the direct opposite of Keynesian Economics taught and promoted in colleges today."

David watched, intrigued. Logan's eyes flashed enthusiasm while his body language said he expected his opinion to be unwelcome. The kid obviously didn't trust adults. He decided to push a little further. "Do you think any of it applies today?"

Logan glanced at Sarah again. Finding encouragement, he ventured on; choosing each word with the care a soldier would show walking through a minefield.

"Not when he talks about wages. People these days sometimes aren't valued for how hard they work or what they contribute. A farmer growing food, which is vital, works harder than a rock star, but he makes a fraction of the money."

This scruffy kid had obviously given some thought to the subject. He was no ordinary boy. David felt a frisson of excitement dart through him. Like himself, Logan was apparently born with exceptional intelligence, but not with the advantage of parents who recognized his talent and had the means to develop it.

"That could lead to some interesting conversation, Logan. I'd like to explore the subject with you sometime."

Thoroughly alarmed, the boy stood abruptly. "I have to go now. I'm late getting home. My mother isn't well, and I have to take care of her. She worries if I'm late. Thanks for the cookies. See yah, Sarah."

This last spoken so fast, Sarah had no time to say goodbye before he bolted out of the room. She watched in amazement, hearing the screen door slam.

Mystified, she said, "Whatever got into him?"

David thought he knew. "I'm guessing he is one remarkably intelligent kid and he doesn't want anyone to know it, for fear he'll be ridiculed. How did you become friends?"

"He's the boy who watches me walk home from school, so the other day I went up to him and asked him why. He really wanted to meet me, but he was afraid I'd diss him. He was sure I wouldn't want anybody like him to talk to me. How could he think that? He didn't even know me. Where does he get off thinking that without knowing anything?"

David thought of Lindsay for about the hundredth time that day, and sighed. "We all do it, even though we know it isn't fair. Why is his mother ill? He said he had to take care of her."

"I don't know. There are rumors that she drinks a lot, like all the time. I asked him about her on the way home, but he didn't want to talk about her."

"Where is his dad?"

"Ashley says he's an over-the-road truck driver. He's gone a lot of the time."

"Poor kid. I liked him. Let's have him over again."

She gave him a big smile. For once he had earned her approval, enough for her to want to continue the conversation. She usually skipped off about now.

"Daddy, has it ever happened to you that the first time you meet someone there's an instant connection and you just know they're going to be your BFF?"

"BFF?"

"Yeah, best friend forever. That happened when I met Logan. I liked him right away and wanted to know him better. Is that weird?"

David laughed gently, but more at himself than her.

"That's happened to me since we moved here. Unfortunately, I made a really bad impression on the lady and she doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Come on, Dad, that's hard to believe. All women like you. They think you're a real hottie."

Hottie? His daughter discussed his sex appeal with her friends?
He felt his face heat.

"Yeah? Well not this one. Every time I get near her, I say something that makes her mad. I saw her at the supermarket and I did it again."

"Dad, don't get mad or anything when I say this, but when it comes to women, your moves are sort of lame. So, what happened?"

"Well, she knows I wait tables at the Kensington, and I thought, from the way she talked, that she was, like you say, dissing me because that wasn't good enough for her. So I insulted her by belittling the shop she has downtown."

"Is this the woman you saw that night?"

Why was Sarah so interested? She sounded excited.

"Yeah, when she was having dinner with some other women. I waited on their table. Then at the Bread and Soup Supper I struck out big time."

"Really? What happened?"

For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Sarah was eager to hear about this woman. They were actually having a conversation without animosity.

"Well, that first night I overheard her saying she didn't like footloose men who were in town for the summer, intending to move on after the season. So, at the supper, I let her believe I was one of those, and said some sarcastic things about judgmental women. It made her mad."

"Well, you could always apologize. It doesn't sound that bad."

"I don't think so. She was pretty steamed. I knew she was special the minute I saw her. For the first time since Mom died, I really wanted to know another woman. But, Sarah, how do you feel about that?"

She beamed with enthusiasm.
What the hell was going on here?

"Dad, I know you're sometimes as lonely as I am, but I met Logan and you'll meet someone, too, and that's okay. I'm not afraid of that anymore. I'd like to be a family again if it's somebody I like."

So young and yet so grown up. He reached across the table and took her hand. "You're one special kid."

Her affectionate smile gave him hope. Something else in her eyes he couldn't figure. It looked like speculation. What was she planning?

"You janked it big time. This means major swag. You should send flowers. Roses. They're romantic. A majorly dope bouquet, way over the top, to impress her."

"Since when are you my social consultant?"

"Uh, Dad. You need help. You're sort of a dork about women. Trust me, flowers are good. If we're going to fit in here, you need to get out and meet people. You tell me to make new friends. What about you? Go for it."

From the mouths of babes. I'm getting advice from my fifteen-year-old daughter? What next?

"I could send flowers, but I don't know where she lives."

Sarah groaned. "Dad. How doofus is that? This town is so small, everybody knows everybody else. Just tell the flower shop. They'll find her."

"Good idea. You think?" At Sarah's nod, he continued. "Yeah, I might do that."

As he watched Sarah go for the stairs, he smiled, shaking his head in wonder. His daughter was such a bundle of contradictions; one minute she was all grown up, but she still slept with the teddy bear she got when she was five.

~ * ~

Logan walked slowly toward his house, thinking about Sarah.
Wow! Sarah Graham. His friend. Was that great, or what?

Hope bubbled within him. To have someone like Sarah for a friend was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Eager to tell someone, he bounded up the steps, praying his mom would be okay enough to listen. Cautiously, he opened the front door. "Mom?"

"That you, baby? C'mon in to the living room. Momma's not feeling too good."

His hope died. She'd been drinking—all day, the way it sounded. He found her on the couch, struggling to sit up. Her thin, brown hair—mostly gray—was a tangled mess. She was barefoot, wearing one of her short housecoats, as she called them, buttoned crookedly, so it hiked up, showing her bare knees. Constant drinking had made her thin and wasted-looking, or at least he hoped it was that and nothing worse. He didn't want her to be really sick, but he wondered what it would be like to have a real home and a real mother. He thought of Sarah and her nice house with cookies in the kitchen, and sighed.

"Why do you drink like this, Mom?" It was so hard to live with; he had to know.

She stared at him angrily, apparently waiting for accusations and blame, but he wanted information. He repeated the question. "Why?"

Carefully arranging her mouth for speech, the way the very drunk do, she said, in a flat, resigned voice, "Because I can't stand being sober. You don't know what it's like, being alone, your dad off driving a truck, not gettin' home but a couple of days a month."

"You could always find a job, or something to do, to get out of the house." He tried to keep the resentment out of his voice, but apparently didn't succeed, because she looked angry.

"So people think I have to work? Like I didn't marry a man good enough to support me?"

Logan gave up. Nothing would ever change. He didn't understand his mother's value system. If she didn't want to get out of the house, then she should learn to be alone. Overwhelmed with futility, he said, "I'm going to make myself something for dinner. You want something to eat?" He put his backpack on a chair and started for the kitchen.

"No. It makes me about half-sick thinkin' about it. You're a good boy. Remember when I used to read to you so you could go to sleep?"

It occurred to him that he could do that now—read to her. She was nearly out of it already. The sooner she fell asleep, the better. "Yeah, close your eyes, I'll read to you."

"Out of the book, okay? Go get the book."

He didn't have to get it. He already knew the sonnet. Number 143, the part at the end. Sadly, he began to recite.

"So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,

whilst I, thy babe, chase thee far behind;

But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,

and play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind:

So will I pray that thou may'st have thy 'will,'

if thou would'st turn back and my loud crying still."

She began snoring softly. With effort, he got up and went into the kitchen. It was a mess. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. Dried food was on the plates still left on the table; something, probably coffee, had been spilled and dripped on the floor, and the garbage can was overflowing.

He'd better clean it up. His father was due home after midnight, and if it was clean, maybe there wouldn't be a fight. First, though, he was going to eat.

He found a package of ramen noodles in the cabinet, cheese in the refrigerator, and some bacon. If he ate the bacon there wouldn't be any for his dad's breakfast.
The heck with it!
He was hungry. Let his mother explain why they were out of bacon. Filling a pot with water for the noodles, he set it to boil, and turned on the burner under the frying pan, sitting in its usual place on the stove, with yesterday's grease still in it. Smiling, he filled it with the rest of the bacon, while remembering Mr. Martin's weird cookies.

Lindsay was dealing with an afternoon business rush at Scentual Encounters. Late-arriving customers, booked into town for a few days, stopped in to buy mineral baths for the double-size whirlpool tubs installed in most of the lodging rooms. Co-ed bathing was a popular part of the tourist scene and Scentual Encounters was the place to go for supplies. She rang up sales while Violet loaded the items into shopping bags printed with the store logo.

A male customer had been cautiously sampling the men's colognes a while and looked like he needed help. Obviously a tourist in his middle-fifties—his clothes gave him away—dressed in Bermuda shorts and a souvenir Eureka Springs t-shirt. A well-styled haircut indicated he was more at home in a boardroom than a perfume shop.

Lynn approached him. "Can I help you find something?"

He responded with a smile. "I thought I might find something for myself. Uh, my wife got me cologne for Christmas, and she said it was the latest thing, but it smells like grass." He grimaced.

She took a guess. "Calvin Klein, maybe?"

"Yeah. Something like that. I sort of like this, though." He held one of the musky, spicy fragrances, clearly on the other side of the spectrum from green grass. Poor guy. No wonder he set out on his own. She reached for a bottle, much more suited for his taste and business environment. Spraying a bit on the back of her hand, she said, "Try this. It seems more like you."

He sniffed carefully, obviously the entire experience new to him, and then grinned. When she'd chosen right, she called it 'the Aha look.'

"That's nice. What is that?"

"This is made from Jamaican Bay Leaf. These scents are all variations of Bay Rum—very old, classic, very masculine, correct for business, with a bit more spice in it."

"I like it. It's clean smelling. No flowers. Wrap it up."

She really enjoyed it when another satisfied customer finally had what he liked.

Only a few people remained when the van from Peggy's Flowers pulled up to the shop. Buddy Joe, their delivery boy, got out, opened the side door and hefted a large, oval, brass container, top heavy with a huge flower arrangement, from the interior of the van. Lindsay watched in amazement while he struggled, inching sideways to bring it through the door of the shop.

"Buddy Joe, what you got there?" Violet asked.

"Flowers for Miss Keith. Got Verna all excited. It's the biggest sale she's had since the Buller wedding last month."

While Lynn stared, Buddy Joe struggled to position the arrangement of roses, baby's breath and greenery on the counter, beside the cash register.

"Miss Keith," he gasped, "you must have an important admirer. This took all the roses we had in the store. We had to have some sent over from Berryville." With a wave, he returned to the van and drove off.

"What on earth?" Lynn said, as she put her face in the flowers, to inhale their perfume. "Good Heavens. Who would send me something like this?"